


Heartlines and Heretics

by TheGrandShloft



Category: Florence + the Machine, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depression, Diagon Alley, FATM, Florence + The Machine - Freeform, Florence + the Machine References, Florence Welch is a witch, Florence Welch's Coven, Flows United, Harry Potter Next Generation, High as Hope Tour, Hogwarts, Inspired by Florence + the Machine, Moderation - Freeform, Order of the Phoenix - Freeform, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Which Witch, florence welch - Freeform, modern day AU, regrets collect like old friends, seven devils, shake it out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 12:39:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19209607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGrandShloft/pseuds/TheGrandShloft
Summary: For years, the storms that ravaged the countryside as fury raged through her head and heart were dismissed as mere coincidences. Now, upon discovery that she is a witch, Florence Welch, at age thirty-two must decide to finish the High as Hope Tour with all of its highs and lows, or flee to the trees for a change of scenery, and the opportunity to study these new special abilities.





	Heartlines and Heretics

Three sat around the large, dark oak table in the cavernous main conference room in Minister or Magic's department: the current Minister for Magic, Hermione Granger, the boy who lived and head Auror, Harry Potter, and a humble shopkeeper and former auror, Ronald Weasley, old school friends.

"Sorry I'm late. Some kid threw up half of the peruvian darkness powder in the shop and then tried to make off with the rest of it," Ron informed his friends as he took off his coat and hung it on the back of his chair.

"No worries. For once I haven't anything urgent scheduled until much later. Worst case scenario, Harry could have just come by for supper. Besides, I'm sure Rose and Hugo would love to see each other before term starts."

"They would! We 'ave to set something up!" Harry agreed. "Anyways, what's this meeting about? You mentioned it was semi urgent, Hermione,"

"Well yes. See, in the department of Underage Witchcraft and Wizardry, one of the interns going through the archives has come across something rather peculiar."

"An intern?" Ron asked leaning forward.

"Have you ever heard of a late witch?" Hermione Granger asked.

"A late witch?" Harry asked.

"This intern discovered an archived case of a girl 'potentially' using magic that was dismissed as purely coincidental. The girl was never investigated and never offered a place at Hogwarts!"

"Well is she a witch or not?"

"We think she is. She's thirty-two now and apparently has been conjuring these massive rainstorms in her fury since she was six!"

"But that's impossible!" Ron exclaimed.

"Improbable, not impossible," Hermione corrected him.

"Is she a threat to herself or others?" Harry inquired.

"The rainstorms haven't caused too much destruction but last for absurdly long amounts of times. When not in such a state, she appears to be a fairly peaceful spirit."

"Well bring her here! I'm sure Neville would love to have her at the school! She doesn't necessarily have to attend the same classes as the children if parents worry about the appropriateness given the age difference."

"Oh I have no doubt! There's just one problem."

"Wot?"

"She's famous..."

* * *

~~~ _who's a heretic now?_

 _am I making sense how—_  
_Is there still this pounding noise inside my head that's keeping me awake_  
_I swear if I could kill it, I would burn it at the stake_  
_There's this pounding noise inside my head that will not go away—_  
_I swear if it gets louder I will_ ~~~

It had only been two days since that festival in Hyde Park and her ears were still ringing with the wailing cries of her fellow countrymen and melodies of her own songs, those sung and unsung that day as she thought about all the changes she'd make if her management let her back in the studio to remix everything. It was an endless cycle of wanting to change. Change the lyrics, the drums, the guitar, the timpanis. Should we have started with trumpets and then harp or harp then trumpets... So many regrets, and so many of them far too early this morning.

She rubbed her head. Only had two days left in her own bed before a travel day to the Czech Republic and the cycle started again. More thundering soundchecks followed by empty hotel rooms, empty conversations, repetitive interviews, screaming fans, and then another bout of dreadful silence alone... again... in a hotel room.

"FLOSSY!" Nick Welch shouted from the ground level below where he had crashed on her sofa the night before in another drunken stupor.

She groaned and pulled her pillow over her head, wishing for earth to be it instead. "WOT? I'M TRYING TO SLEEP UP HEEEYA!"

"THERE ARE PEOPLE AT THE DOOR FOR YOU!"

"GIVE EM A BOOK AND SEND EM AWAY!" It placated most young fangirls, to have something she touched even once made their day. It was so strange. _I'm just another person!_ She'd claim to no avail.

"THEY BLOKES FROM SOME DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES THAT NEED TA SPEAK WITH YA ABOUT SOMETHING! SOUNDS OFFICIAL AND SHIT! I CAN'T REALLY TURN 'EM AWAY!"

"MAYBE THEY'RE SOLICITORS! TELL 'EM I'M BUSY!"

"FLORENCE LEONTINE—"

"For fucks sake, Dad!" she grumbled as she clamored out of bed. "COMING!" She pulled on the nearest robe and headed down the three flights of tight turning stairs of her old Edwardian home. _Where's Paddy when you need him to chase away civilians?_

A woman and two men wearing rather odd suits that were nonetheless still suits had been seated at the dining table in her cluttered kitchen filled to the brim with various antiques and trinkets.

"You let them in without asking?" she hissed at her father as he passed by her with a cup of gin and juice on his way back to the sofa.

"They seemed legit," Nick shrugged, kissing her on the cheek, still reeking of whiskey and tonics from the last evening.

She growled at him until he was gone, before masking her rage and fear behind a practiced smile. "Er... Hi," she said awkwardly.

"You're Florence Leontine Mary Welch?" the woman at her table asked.

"I am."

"I'm Hermione Granger! Pleased to make your acquaintance!"

"Ronald Weasley!"

"Harry Potter!"

"Hello," she shook each of their hands. "Did Hannah send you?" the auburn-haired English woman asked, referring to her manager.

"No," Granger replied.

"Katie? Aldene? Emile? Isa?" the sleepy lady prodded.

"No, Florence, we came on our own accord." Potter explained.

"Florence, have you ever seen something or experienced something unusual... something that couldn't be explained by the conventional laws of existence—" Granger asked, getting straight to the point.

"Of course—well... things that seemed unusual to me, but I'm not very scientific. They could have been perfectly plausible--, but what do I know?"

"Could you give an example?"

"I was born..."

"We mean, could you control things others couldn't control? Like say... the weather?"

🎶 _And that evening in Chicago when the crowds were set ablaze_  
_The skies cried and the storm raged_  
_Blanketing us in this electric haze_  
_I beckoned it towards me_  
_begged for rain_  
_And as if by useless magic, the storm came_ 🎶

"... Perhaps, but it's all just coincidence, right?"

"You're a witch, Florence."

"But I'm just Florence! I'm just another person!"

"Well, _just Florence_ , you can remain here, and think about all those words left unsung, or you can come with us and learn to control those unusual abilities of yours," Potter offered.

Florence stepped back, awestruck. "How did you know--"

"Did you just use occlumency on her?" Hermione asked, frowning with disapproval.

"Perhaps," Potter replied, laughing.

"That's cruel mate, look at her!" Weasley exclaimed, motioning to the late witch who stood with her shoulders firmly pressed against her own cabinetry, very near to breaking down in a combination or tears and laughter.

It was all so surreal. She knew she was different, that there was something in her that set her apart from the crowd in primary school, but for it to be magic, was just unbelievable. She could sing, sure, but so could so many others. She wondered if magic could enable her to turn back time. Silence all those voices that kept her up at night. Could she have changed that one melody in that one song? Could she have not accepted that one drink? Could she have taken that opportunity to flip off that bully? Could she have pulled her grandmother back from the balcony, had she known what was happening?

"Harry, there are other ways of proving the existence of magic!" Hermione reminded him. "Observe!"

The cabinetry behind Florence burst into cool flames. Like water, they washed over the late witch like a bath, not burning as she whipped around and bumped into one of her own dinner chairs, great... another bruise coming!

"It was an antique!" she screamed at the strangers sitting at her table.

"Don't worry, love. It's not burning," Granger claimed. "Look inside. See what you find."

Florence opened the cabinet revealing a collection of jars each with a bit of paper hanging inside.

"What is it?" Ron asked.

"An exhibit from back when I was in Art College. Called it 'Paper Massacre'. I used to collect people and put them in jars and label them. They're the ones who made me hurt — I'd imagine them all holding hands like links of a paper chain as if they were performing some sacred rite or something. They all had this need to prop themselves up by tearing each other apart... it was quite a brutal exhibit looking back..." _I guess it's just another regret_ _, probably_.

"Flo, I brought dumplings!--Oh hey Dad-- I thought we could eat and then go out for a bit of fresh air. I know you have a garden, but sometimes, it doesn't seem nearly enough. Bonnie will be okay with Dan until late this afternoon, so we don't have to rush--Oh hello!" a blonde haired woman rambled on as she entered the house with a key of her own and straight to the kitchen where she found her sister with a few strangers.

"Hello, and you are--" Potter asked.

"Grace, her sister. And _you_?" She asked, protectively taking a place standing between them and Florence.

"They say I'm a witch," Florence blurted out.

Grace turned to her big sister. "Well that explains a lot. Let me guess... Dad just woke you up?" she asked examining Florence's slightly disheveled state. Silence from Florence confirmed her suspicions. "I'll get the tea started. Will you take citrus and honey this morning with your ginger?"

"Maybe chamomile or hibiscus would be better given the current circumstance. That or straight vodka--"

"No vodka before noon and not before having a full meal of something. If you want it it has to be in--

"Don't say it--"

" _\--moderation_." 

"Hey! It was just a word until you wrote it into a song and made yourself sick of it! Not my fault!" Grace laughed.

Florence shuddered, wrapping her robe tighter around herself.

Grace turned to their three guests. "Would you all care for some tea as well?"

"Oh, no thank you. We should probably get going. We've taken enough of your time. Florence, this is for you," Granger said, drawing a folded letter from an inside pocket of her suit bearing a wax seal of the Minister for Magic. "It more or less reiterates what we have told you already with some additional information regarding training in the magical arts. The next school term starts on the first of September, but given the circumstances we highly encourage that you begin your studies as soon as possible."

"School?" Florence asked as she picked up the letter slid across the table and broke the seal.

"Don't worry. You won't be the only adult if you do decide to go. The Ministry for Magic has discovered a handful of others like you who slipped under the radar when you were children and have come to an agreement with Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to develop a curriculum that will provide you with basic knowledge of the... essentials, like charms, transfiguration, and self-defense against the dark arts-- Instead of the full-- more broad curriculum required of the children that include potions, herbology, arithmancy, divination, runes, muggle studies..."

"But what if I've an interest in all of those things as well?" Florence asked.

"Then I am sure we can incorporate those into your course schedule as well!"

Grace turned away from the kettle in shock as her big sister waved to the strangers who left out out the back door and stepped into the garden. "The exit's--" Florence began to say as she pointed to her front door.

"We know," Weasley replied as he, Granger, and Potter reached into their pockets and pulled out a wand before vanishing with the lightest pop.

"WOAH!" Florence squealed with glee whirling around to face her sister.

"You can't be serious about this-- you don't even know them!"

"So?"

"You're in the middle of a fucking tour!"

"So?" we can reschedule.

"Refund all of those tickets? What about your contracts with Hannah and Isa and the musicians in your band and the sound and production companies? What about your contract with Gucci?"

"I can pay them off!"

"Not all of them. Not after last month's thrift-shopping. You might have enough liquid assets to pay off Hannah and the production company, but not Emile, the musicians, and Gucci!"

"But I want to go!"

"Why?"

"Because-- I don't know. Maybe for a change of scenery?" Florence asked sitting at her table with her chin in her hands. "Maybe so I don't have to spend night after night alone in a hotel room crying... day after day answering questions about myself, and diminishing the meaning of my own story and name? Maybe so Mom won't call me a waste of a brain--"

"Mom never--"

"She did! She said so when I mentioned how I can remember every outfit I wear. Maybe if I go back to school, any school, she won't be so fucking disappointed in me for chosing a career that is so loud and dangerous..."

"Flo, this is your life. Don't do whatever you think will make Mom happy, of all people," Grace sighed pouring for her sister a cup of tea.

Florence took a tentative sip pensively. ""You're right." Grace looked up. That was a first. "This IS my life, which is another reason why I don't need to listen to your advice! I won't finish the tour!" The Songstress decided bolting for her kitchen door to flee back upstairs to the safety of solitude.

"Flo!" Grace shouted after her.

"You two fighting again?" Nick groaned from the couch.

"Dad, tell her she can't just walk out on the Tour!" Grace asked.

"Eh, she's a grown-ass woman, can do what she wants."

"Not if it causes irreparable damage--FLO!" Grace yelled, flying up the spiraling staircase.

Just as she reached the last bend in the stair, Florence threw her open and stood, towering over her sister, her eyes downcast, almost dangerous with determination. "I've negotiated a deal," she announced.

"On your own?" Grace asked skeptically.

Florence frowned. "Somebody will come take me to Finsbury and help me select some books and a wand, and I will research this world before deciding whether to leave _this_ one or not for one potentially a little less depressing."

"Flo, you've said so yourself! The loneiness-- the sadness-- it follows _you_ wherever you go. Running into the unknown, drunk or sober, hasn't helped you before and won't help you now."

"Hence the research! You can't stop me from going to Finsbury with this guy!"

"Flo!"

"But I guess you can come with, if it will make you feel better."

Grace groaned, hoping for her sister to not fall into another cycle of impulsiveness again. "Fine, but I'm bringing Dad's hunting knife."

"Sword's bigger," Florence replied, holding out her own for medieval weapon for sister to take. Grace looked at her strangely. "I'm not sure how well a hunting knife can hold against a wand."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N  
> 🎶And that evening in Chicago when the crowds were set ablaze  
> The skies cried and the storm raged  
> Blanketing us in this electric haze  
> I beckoned it towards me  
> begged for rain  
> And as if by useless magic, the storm came🎶  
> ^^^Original Poem by zhenyilani
> 
> ~~~who's a heretic now?  
> am I making sense how—  
> Is there still this pounding noise inside my head that's keeping me awake  
> I swear if I could kill it, I would burn it at the stake  
> There's this pounding noise inside my head that will not go away—  
> I swear if it gets louder I will~~~  
> ^^^Poem by zhenyilani and inspired by Which Witch and Drumming Song by Florence Welch, Isabella Summers, Crispin Hunt, James Ellis Ford
> 
> This story will have no shipping(because of what is said in What Kind of Man, and South London Forever, I don't see Florence being with anyone for a long while as sad as it its). My goal with this story will be to be as realistic as possible based on what has been said in interviews, magazine articles, and song lyrics. Hope you still like it!


End file.
